Don't read into this, it's just a book
by Dianaprince89
Summary: It's the thought that counts, but Liz doesn't know what he's thinking. One-shot.


Liz had always wanted a first edition of _Gone with the Wind._

Since she was nine years old, the very first time she read it, it has been at the back of her mind. Even then, back when she couldn't appreciate all that the book had to offer, she realized the value of it. Now, she's read and re-read it so many times she can recite parts of it from memory.

It had been a formative book in her life; it had taught her lessons about love, hope, regret, second chances, and ambition.

It had kept her company during many lonely lights, been a refuge and a haven, provided her comfort through many a storm.

She's got at least three copies, all in states of relative disrepair. No matter how hard she tries to take care of them they always end up torn or spilled on (she even left one copy in her car and it froze over night so that when she opened it, the binding broke).

And now she's holding a flawless first edition, autographed no less, in her hands and she has to turn it down.

Right? No, she does. Doesn't she? Yeah, of course she does.

"Jack I uh," she stammered. "I can't accept this."

As recently as within the last six months she looked up how much it would cost her to buy a first edition copy of the book. She likes to keep track, even though it will always just be a pipe dream (if only she knew how to do that thing where rich people turn money into more money). Last time she looked, the few copies available averaged $85,000. Unsigned.

The signed copy resting delicately in her grasp now must be worth even more. Six figures probably.

"I got if for you," Jack countered, as if that is all the reason necessary to accept a six-figure gift from your boss/friend/mentor/man you're secretly in love with. His voice held that unique quality only he possessed that indicated he was saying something totally obvious and that even though he understood your resistance, he was going to pretend to have no idea what you were talking about.

"I just," she wondered if he realized how much this would damage her. "I can't."

"You don't like it?" he asked, sounding wounded, but also disbelieving. He knew her too well to believe it was an unwanted gift.

It made her heart ache.

"No," she immediately corrected. "It's… amazing. I never even told you about this."

"I know," he shrugged, as if reading her accurately is something easy, simple, clear. As if everyone else that has ever met her hasn't struggled endlessly to figure her out before just giving up. As if what she thinks about and desires is common knowledge. As if endless strings of men haven't left feeling hopelessly exasperated. "But isn't the best gift something that you want but would never buy for yourself? I've always thought so."

"I wouldn't buy this for myself because it's like five year's worth of my salary," she scoffed. "I don't think that's…" She doesn't know what it is. "I got you a pen."

"Exceptionally thoughtful of you," he nodded. "After the ordeal I suffered through in D.C. it comforts me to know that you were listening, that you were still involved while I was going through such a dark time." He shuddered and looked away for a minute, his gaze distant.

He was completely serious. His appreciation of her gift lacked sarcasm, falsity, or complexity. For him, it was a simple thing to accept and appreciate the thought that went into her gift. It was a beautiful pen, and he praised it both for it's form and it's practicality.

She tried again to make him understand.

"Jack it's," she tried to figure out how to explain it to him. How to explain to him that this was breaking her, making that normally dull ache in her chest throb and grow and take over her whole body. "It's great." The flatness of her voice made his eyes seek hers. She tried to convey with her gaze what she was uncharacteristically struggling to put into words.

Because to anyone else this gesture, a gift of this magnitude, would be an indication that the giver's feelings ran deeper than friendship. From anyone else, this would be half a step away from a declaration of love.

That's not what it was though, she knew. And for reasons she no longer questioned, that hurt. She wanted it to mean more to him; she wanted it to be _something._

But to him it was just a gift he had the disposable income to purchase for her. Sure, he might not buy something so extravagant for Tracy or Jenna or Pete, but Liz liked to think she was closer to Jack than they are.

It wasn't weird that he bought them TGS socks. Liz was his second-in-command, his friend, his mentee and his confidant. They had seen each other through some tight spots.

This was too much though, from where she sits. In her (shark-) eyes, it was too meaningful.

"But?" he eventually prompted.

"You know I can't accept it," she sighed.

"No I don't know that," he argued, a touch of petulance seeping into his voice. "I see no reason why you can't accept this gift in the spirit in which it is intended. Don't you always say things like 'It's the thought that counts,' Lemon? I thought about this and I thought of you- the price tag shouldn't matter."

But it did, she thought to herself. For some reason it mattered now more than ever.

And the reason it mattered was because it mattered so much to her, but so little to him.

"I can't take this," she said again, placing it gingerly on his desk. The delicate red ribbon she pulled off it only moments before slid to the floor but neither of them moved to retrieve it. She fingered the unopened card nervously.

"Please," he said simply. It was the closest thing she'd ever heard to begging come out of his mouth. It was the tone of voice she had heard before, though rarely, that said he was hurting.

"Sorry Jack," she looked everywhere but at him. "Just send me some socks like everyone else."

"You're not like everyone else," he retorted sternly. "I will do no such thing." She could hear the frustration in his voice, could practically feel the emotion building inside him.

"You _really _don't see why I can't take this?" she asked, because she wanted him to admit something, though she was not quite sure exactly what.

"I really don't," he acknowledged, though she suspected he did see and she wished he would just come out with whatever was hiding behind his eyes.

"It's not…" she struggled to find the right word. "It's not appropriate."

"Appropriate?" he echoed.

"Yes," she nodded, confident in her choice. She could work with this.

"How so?" he asked.

"You're my boss," she replied, and even as she was saying it she knew it was a weak excuse.

"So?" he pressed. "I'm also your friend, Lemon. And as a friendly gesture I got you something you want but will never buy for yourself. I'm still not seeing why this is such a big deal." He paused, exasperation clear in every line on his face. "Take the book," he urged. "Scarlet certainly would."

There was an interminable pause as Liz's mind processed.

"You've read _Gone with the Wind?" _Liz stammered.

"When I recognized the depth of your admiration for it," he shrugged. "I felt it prudent to investigate the appeal. For market reasons, of course."

"Of course," Liz parroted lamely.

She couldn't believe he'd read her favorite book. Read it because of her.

It was just another thing that, if it were coming from someone else, would mean so much more.

Like when she gave him a pep talk on his acting and he qualified it that _if she were any other woman…_

If he were any other man...

"Look Jack, I just, uh," she searched desperately for an out. "Oh! Is that my phone ringing?" She reached into her pocket and pulled her so obviously-not-ringing phone out, talking into it. "What's on fire? Who got arrested? My sandwich is _where?_ Those things sound very important. I'll be right there." She looked over at Jack, hoping she appeared apologetic (though she probably just looked panicked and embarrassed because he's always been able to see through her). "Sorry but I've gotta go. There's a crisis down on the set."

"Yes," he allowed her to pretend, though the tone of was voice was laced with _this is so not over_. "Fire, jail time and a missing deli item. It sounds like quite the crisis. I'll see you later, I suppose."

"Of course," she forced a smile. "See you later."

She made it all the way to the door before she paused to look back at him.

"And Jack?" she began.

He looked up expectantly, a forlorn, baffled expression on his face, a darker seriousness underlying it all. The book rested softly in his large (why was she noticing the size of his hands?) palms.

"Hmm?" he mumbled.

"Never mind," she shook her head, making a quick exit.

"Merry Christmas," he stopped her cold with the deep rumble of his voice. "Elizabeth."

She didn't reply as she fled past Jonathon and his disdainful, disbelieving glare.

Before she had a chance to compose herself, Kenneth was handing her a massive stack of files and yammering about budget constraints. She slid Jack's card into her back pocket and tried to focus.

It was over an hour before she found a moment to herself.

Back in the sanctuary of her own office, she wondered what would happen to the book now.

Would he keep it to try and give it to her later? Would he sell it back? Worst of all, would he give it as a gift to one of his many love interests?

The last thought left Liz feeling nauseous and she tried to pretend it was because she felt they wouldn't appreciate the worth of the book.

She knew the truth though.

When Liz was little she imagined herself as Scarlett and that she would marry a man like Rhett Butler.

In reality though, she has dated men much closer to the Wilkes mold than anything approaching Rhett. Like Scarlett, Liz has always struggled to find strong men who are willing to battle her on a daily basis. Relationships based on duality, on conflict and opposition, are tiring and rarely fulfilling. In reality, the men with duller edges, softer voices, and gentler spirits are the only ones who can counter her harshness.

Except Jack.

Jack is a Rhett Butler in his own right. He's proud, conceited, powerful, intelligent, business-oriented, defiant, and wealthy. He does not yield to her and yet they seem to get along. They bicker without ill-will, fight without falling out, and argue without aggravation (nothing more than temporary annoyance anyways). Their relationship withstands the push-and-pull dynamic they have developed and, if anything, seems to be strengthened by that very dynamism.

But for Liz it has morphed into something more. She has spent a lot of time thinking about the double-edged sword of dating yourself. One of you has to be willing to yield and it almost always ends in animosity and resentment.

With Jack, she doesn't have to yield, and she doesn't think he does either. They're different enough to balance each other, similar enough to get along well.

To him though, she is simply his friend, employee, and mentee. He has probably never even considered her as a woman, other than to bemoan the many ways in which she falls short of the other members of the fair sex.

Jack constantly criticizes her hair, her clothing, her taste in men, her eating habits, her sexual close-mindedness, her work, and almost every other aspect of her life.

They're friends and he trusts her but he doesn't see her as an equal. They lack some key component that would allow them to succeed romantically.

Well, two components really- the aforementioned illusive mystery quality and the more realistic fact that he's not attracted to her.

She wondered when she got so pathetic as she ignored Toofer and Lutz arguing outside her office. When did she turn from Liz Lemon, happily self-declared spinster to whiny, angsty, pining Liz?

Stupid Jack. It's all his fault.

Damn his sexy bear chest and his perfect hair and his sparkling eyes and his laughter.

Groaning, Liz nearly shouted when there was a knock on the door.

"What?" she exclaimed in annoyance.

Pete poked his head in through a small crack. "Bad time?" he asked.

"It's fine," Liz sighed. "What do you need?"

"I think you'd better come settle this," he indicated the argument at the writer's table with a nod of his head.

"I'll be right there," she replied. "This better be good, nerds!" she yelled to the writers as Pete shut the door.

Secretly, she was glad for the distraction. This was what her life was all about.

_This was what her life was all about._

It hit her hard, like a sucker punch to the gut, when she thought it again. Her life was about work. Her life _was_ work.

Work was the source of all her friendships, it was the only thing she used to fill her time, and now it was the center of her romantic world as well, albeit in the pathetically one-sidedness of her love for Jack.

She'd get over this. She had to. Maybe he'd marry some chick in the next few weeks and then Liz would be able to convince herself that it's _really_ never going to happen between them.

She should find out if he's been dating anyone lately (and she forces down the wave of panic at the thought that he has).

Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she made her way out to the writer's room where she refereed a debate about what animals would rule the world if humans weren't in charge (Frank insisted it was centaurs while Toofer argued chimpanzees were the scientific likelihood and besides, centaurs don't even exist!)

It was almost ten when she was finally wrapping up for the day. Her parents were on a cruise this year and Mitch was with his new wife so she was alone. She tried to tell herself that she was looking forward to the time off, peace and quiet by herself, but already she could feel the loneliness creeping in.

When there was a soft, hesitant knock on her door she almost yelled, "go away!"

"Just me," Pete stuck his head inside her office. "Are you ok?"

Liz sighed, debating whether or not to tell him about the book.

"If someone who claims to be your friend got you a really expensive gift," she asked. "Would you think it meant something?"

"Meant something," Pete echoed. "Like what?"

"Like they wanted to be more than friends," she shrugged.

"How expensive?" his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Six figures," Liz averted her eyes.

Pete's whistle made her smile slightly. "That's not a friend," he laughed. "That's a sugar-daddy."

"Pete," Liz groaned. "I'm serious!"

"Someone got you a six figure gift?" he exclaimed. "Is it a car? A house? An airplane? Did he want sex for it? Jesus you can't accept that! It's like _Indecent Proposal_ in here!"

"Relax," she shook her head. "And _gross._ I didn't accept it. And it wasn't a car. It was a book."

"Still," he shuffled. "That's some book. You don't like the guy?"

"No!" she blushed when the quick denial drew his scrutiny. "I do. I just don't think he likes me."

"You're crazy!" Pete replied. "He bought you an incredibly expensive book, he clearly is interested in you. What did I get you?"

"A scarf," she responded idly, hastily adding, "which I love!"

"And what did you get from me last year?" he pressed.

Liz blushed. "I don't remember."

"Me neither," Pete admitted with a smile. "Probably something that cost a lot less than six-figures. And I think you're pretty great."

"Yeah," Liz nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem," he replied. "I'll see you next week. Merry Christmas, Liz."

"Merry Christmas, Pete," she smiled. "Thanks again."

Even though it was December 23rd and only moments away from being Christmas Eve, Liz didn't want to go home to her empty apartment, to a dinner of leftovers and a bunch of scripts that would probably get cut anyways.

Maybe she'd pick up Chinese food on the way home. Her favorite place was open until 1 and if she left right away she'd probably make it.

Gathering her things, Liz wondered if Jack was still upstairs. He'd been hiding from his mother for the past few days and she bet he was still in his office cowering like a little boy.

The thought of Colleen brought a smile to her face but it was quickly erased by the ache in her chest.

What was she going to do about Jack? Or really, what was she going to do about herself? As far as he was concerned nothing was wrong. But for her, this was yet another painful reminder of all the things she wanted but couldn't have.

At the elevator, she felt annoyed about having to wait. There was virtually no one else in the building, how long could the damn thing take?

And then, _of course_, the elevator and the reason for the delay arrived. Jack was inside the elevator car, uncharacteristically slumped against the wall. He looked weary, defeated.

Immediately moved to concern, Liz stepped inside. "Are you ok?" she asked.

"Just tired," he lied, and they both knew it was untrue but Liz let it slide.

It stung more than she'd admit that he was lying, even a lie as lame as that one.

"You sure?" she asked, hoping he'd be willing to share his problem. She needed the give and take, the normalcy, to distract herself from how close they were to each other in the small space.

"I'm sure," he nodded. "I don't want to burden one of my employees with my personal problems." His voice was totally matter of fact but it struck Liz like a physical blow.

"Jack," she implored, her voice soft despite her effort to sound in charge of her emotions.

"I'm sorry," he shook his head. "That was uncalled for. My apologies. It's been a rather unusual day and I just need some sleep."

"Right," Liz nodded. "The break will be good for all of us, I'm sure."

"I don't need a break from you," Jack responded.

His honesty had always been startling to Liz and this was no exception. It was like he was unafraid, like he was fearless.

"I didn't mean," she faltered. "I just thought it might be nice to be away from the office for a few days. To relax."

"Do _you_ need a break from _me_, Lemon?" he asked, part curiosity and part hurt feelings.

"No," she shook her head. He seemed to relax some then, and the elevator deposited them in the lobby with a _ding_.

"Would you like a ride home?" he offered.

Liz debated lying but she smiled thinly, "I'm stopping for Chinese."

"I don't mind," he shrugged.

"Ok then," she nodded, wondering what the hell she was doing. This wasn't at all how her night was supposed to play out.

"I admit I have ulterior motives for asking to drop you off," Jack began as soon as the car started rolling.

"Oh?" Liz said noncommittally.

"I wanted to talk to you about my gift," he replied.

"Please don't," she urged.

"Why not?" he seemed genuinely confused.

"You really don't get it?" she challenged, meeting his eyes.

"I don't understand what you're afraid of," he admitted. "Are you worried?"

"What?" Liz shook her head as if that would clear some of the confusion.

"You uh," Jack's uncharacteristic trepidation made Liz endlessly nervous. "You didn't read my card?"

_Blerg!_

"No," she admitted, flushing furiously. "I forgot about it." She pulled the wrinkled card from her back pocket and held it out to him.

"You could read it now," he suggested.

"Now?" she swallowed harshly. It obviously said something important and she wasn't sure she wanted to be in front of him while trying to process whatever it was.

Jack wrapped his hands around hers and opened the envelope. The feel of his skin against hers was too distracting for words. When he moved away and just the notecard was left in her hand, it took her a moment to focus on the words.

The card was handwritten, simple, clear.

"Merry Christmas, Lemon. Love, Jack." Liz read it aloud without thinking. There was a little hand-drawn picture of a lemon next to her name and XOXO scrawled above the, _Love, Jack_ part.

"That's it?" she stammered.

Jack looked startled.

"That's what you wanted," he responded. "Isn't it? Something that a friend would give? Because if you've changed your mind…" He slides the book out of his briefcase. The ribbon was around it again, although she could tell that this time he had wrapped it himself.

"What do you think this means?" Liz indicated the book.

"It means I like you, Elizabeth," he sighs. "I like you very much."

"You _like me_?" Liz repeated incredulously. "I _like_ pizza. I don't buy pizza a six-figure gift."

"Well no one buys pizza gifts," Jack retorted, and Liz's withering glance was enough to cut him short. "I understand. I just assumed that you wouldn't want to hear, shall we say, the full truth, before we'd even been on a date."

"A date?" Liz echoed. "We're going on a date."

"If you'd like to, yes," Jack nodded. "Hopefully more than one."

"I don't understand," she said. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not sure how much clearer I can be," Jack admitted.

"Try," Liz urges.

Jack found her eyes and held her gaze for a long minute. One minute he was holding the book out towards her and the next his large hands were framing her face and he was kissing her.

Not a friendly kiss either.

When he leaned back, he rested his forehead against hers. They were both panting a little and Liz could taste the faintest hint of his scotch on her tongue.

"Oh," she breathed, eyes still closed.

"Yes," Jack chuckled. "_Oh_, indeed." They rode in silence for a few minutes, taking in each other's presence. "So you'll accept my gift then," he asked eventually.

Liz squinted at him, accepting the book with a delicate grasp.

"Duh," she scoffed. "But don't think this entitles you to any funny business."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jack laughed, a full deep-bellied laugh that made Liz's stomach flip. He slid up next to her on the seat and pressed a kiss to her neck. She sighed and titled her head away to give him more access.

"Cause that would be gross," she bit back a moan. "If you gave me expensive stuff and then we fooled around."

"Very tacky, yes," Jack murmured, his lips wreaking havoc on Liz's sanity.

"Good," she sighed tremulously. "Just so we're… cc-clear on that."

"Liz," Jack rumbled. Liz met his eyes.

"Hmm?" she replied absently.

Their gaze held, tumultuous obsidian meeting turbulent chocolate. Liz was at a loss, her weapons of choice, wit and words, utterly failing her in the face of the overwhelming emotions Jack evoked in her.

Not knowing what else to do, she kissed him. Margaret Mitchell's words whispered through her head.

_Her lips on his could tell him better than all her stumbling words._

And she knew Jack understood.


End file.
